Fury of a God
by Interim
Summary: She'd dreamt longingly of the city, once. But she never dreamed her rural life could end so brutally. Kidnapped. Orphaned. Avenged. Tenten swore she would never be a victim again. AU [Naruto/Skyrim]; Eventual NejiTen; Rated M for violent themes.
1. Rescued

**A/N: I do not own Naruto or the Elder Scrolls series.**

* * *

**Prologue**

"No, _no_. I refuse it entirely. I'll _not_ lose all of Skyrim to these callous and cunning bastards!."

Jarl Hizashi Stormcloak stood above his advisor contemptuously. How dare he—has the man no shame?—request a surrender to the Empire? They were Nords; such a concept should not even register in his mind. No, he thought. He was no Nord.

"Yes, my Lord, but please understand," his advisor continued insistently, "our armies are barely half of what they were. We are losing men faster than we can replace them—not to mention our lack of supplies renders us incapable of providing for the men we do have. Shouldn't we cut our losses—cut the loss of life? This is not the Nord way."

"Don't," Hizashi cut in, "presume to lecture me on the merits of Nordic traditions. You know _nothing_. Surrender? Lie down on our backs for those Imperial bastards? I would sooner see all of Skyrim reduced to _blood and ash_!"

He spun angrily and stalked away, his robes swaying violently. The door to his chambers slammed shut behind him. The advisor sighed, tossing his books down and splaying the map of Skyrim across the desk. Each division was marked with red and blue flags, according to different segments of control. Their blue flags easily outnumbered the Imperial's red, but how long would this last? Days? Weeks? The Imperials had the resources to fight for centuries. What was so hard for Hizashi to understand? There was a fine line between dedication and obsession, and Hizashi had not just crossed it—he'd catapulted himself over.

"Is he giving you trouble again?"

The advisor whirled, afraid he'd been speaking aloud again, but relaxed. It was only Neji.

"Not particularly," he lied. "We are just struggling to… understand one another. But it is of no consequence."

"I wouldn't say that," Neji replied bitterly. "My father is a man of action. He'll live up to his promise of 'blood and ash.' You know he will."

Why did this brat have to be so nosy? As if he didn't have enough to worry about now without people thinking he was deterring from Hizashi's wishes. "I will stand by your father regardless. He is the true High King."

Neji made no reply, but simply turned and walked away, though the irritated set of his shoulders startlingly resembled his father's. Somewhere deep within the advisor a flicker of pity sparked. This boy was what, nineteen? And at this young age he is forced to comply with his father's demands, is branded a traitor to the Empire for bearing the Stormcloak name, and is made to sit idly by as his own father destroys the land of his birth. The boy seemed to resent his father—that much was obvious in those shoulders. He was powerless. But perhaps he was right.

No.

The advisor picked up his books, and shook thoughts of treason from his mind. Jarl Hizashi was simply enveloped in the passion of the moment—he would never stoop so low. He had to be doing what's best for his country—his homeland. Wouldn't he protect it with his life if that's what it cost? The advisor froze suddenly, shivering and shaking. The answer to that question: yes, there it was. It was so obvious, why didn't he see it before? Didn't it manifest itself repeatedly in the course of the battles and blood? Tears fell, stinging his eyes, breaking into droplets across the books he clenched, harder and harder. All of this fighting, all of this death, and it was too late. The answer:

All hope was lost.

* * *

**Chapter One**

Blood and ice. Weeks and months of blood and ice. Both mingled sickly across the entire span of her prison; the thought that they were ever separate at all was strange. It was all Tenten could do to keep herself together. She didn't know how long it had been since the raid on Whiterun, but it had been long enough. Of the four of them who were kidnapped, she was the only one still alive, the only one who could still feel the sharp sting of winter in her lungs. Maybe she should just die already.

No, she thought sharply. She hadn't come this far for nothing. She will survive.

She will win.

Her captors were out there now, laughing heartily and tossing frayed pieces of wood into the fire. They seemed oblivious to her cage, though she was not 10 feet from them. Perhaps it was better that way, but she'd rather be sitting by the fire, even if it meant she'd have to sit on one of their laps.

"'Ay," one called out. She kept her head down, picking at her worn fabric. He stood up precariously and stumbled towards her cage. "Look at me when I'm talkin' to you, wench."

She remained aloof. Maybe he'd get bored and go away—it sometimes worked.

Step.

Step.

Step.

Closer and closer. No, it wouldn't work. Not this time. He rattled the bars, and fumbled with the keys. No, please, she thought. Not again, not like this. But she knew better, and kept her head down.

"Gotcha," he said, finally clicking the lock into place. The door creaked open, blood in the hinges. He stood over her, his face twisted in a gnarly sneer. "Bet you didn't think I'd get it?"

Nothing. She could say nothing. She just prayed he'd be fast—he always was.

Suddenly a loud bang echoed in the distance. Tenten looked up quickly, praying to the Divines that this would be a distraction enough to spare her a few more minutes. The thug above her scratched his head.

"Didn't we put J'zaar on guard tonight?"

"I dunno," another responded. "Didn't we throw 'em outside?"

"Yeah, actually," the thug said. He gripped the war-axe girded about his belt and stepped out of the cage, swinging it carelessly shut behind him. "So who's that?"

As if an immediate answer to his question, an arrow whipped forward like black lightning and buried itself between his eyes. Tenten gasped, cringing against her cage. He went down. Hard.

His teammates, stiffened and startled, readied their weapons and shields, as they waited for their unexpected visitor like cave bears skulking in the shadows. A blur of blonde suddenly flew forward, her sword a tempest that easily felled the unprepared men. They all collapsed before they knew what'd hit them. The woman approached them, flicked the gore from her weapon, and silently knelt down by each kill, scavenging for gold or other goods. So she was no better than they.

Tenten dared not utter a sound. This woman was in a whole new league, and she knew that one swish of the blade and she'd be done—all her arduous struggles for nothing. No, Tenten would live.

Tenten would live.

However, her silence was unnecessary because the moment the woman stood up she whirled and kicked the cage open. Tenten lay crumpled against the bars, breaths short and shallow. What did she want? Why was she here? What would she do to her? She stood above Tenten for a time, and each heartbeat must have sounded like drums to this strange woman.

"You've been here a while," she remarked. Her eyes shone with understanding and empathy, her voice as smooth as silk. She knelt down beside Tenten.

Her sudden kindness was jarring. "Y-yes," Tenten replied, startled and wary. "It's been three weeks or months. I don't know. I lost count."

"The attack on Whiterun happened about six weeks ago but, Divines; to you it must have felt like years."

"That's one way of saying it." Tenten's voice sounded hoarse to her own ears. It had been six weeks since she'd spoken to another living person.

"Well, let's get you out of here." The woman stood, and helped Tenten up. Her legs wobbled like thistle branches in the wind. When was the last time she'd used them? Stepping out of the cage was like being alive again. She unfurled her arms to their fullest extent, arching her back as if preparing for flight. Maybe she was.

She glanced down at the men at her feet. Their clothes soaked in their own blood for a change. Their faces were all marred with frozen expressions of horror, mouths agape and eyes bulging.

She felt no remorse.

She stepped over them and stood by the fire, rubbing her hands and feet and arms and legs. The warmth spread through her body, seeped into her soul. The day had come. For so long she felt as if she was doomed to live out the rest of her life—be it days or weeks or months—in this rot. Spouts of hope were few and far between. But every death had instilled that necessity to live.

The only solace Tenten had found in this pit had been the company of four other girls who could only communicate through nods and sighs and tears; the first girl who attempted to speak had her tongue cut out. And one by one Death made his rounds, each passing harder to bear than the last. But with each girl who died in these cages, Tenten knew she wouldn't be next—couldn't be. She had to make it out, she had to triumph.

Even if it meant playing by the rules of the thugs.

"You seem lost," the woman said. Tenten jumped. She'd forgotten much in the face of the fire.

"Sorry, I'm just… thinking, I guess," she said. "Much has happened here."

"I understand."

And she did. Tenten could feel it. This woman knew the pain and emptiness that could eat away at one's very soul—that could rend it utterly. This woman felt it deeply.

"What's your name?" the woman asked.

"It's Tenten."

"Ah," she replied. "That's lovely. You can call me Tsunade, if you wish."

Tenten looked up again. This whole situation seemed too good to be true. Perhaps the Divines were watching out for her, after all.

"Okay," she said. "I will."

Tsunade grinned back at her and they began their trek out of the hold. The stone walls were worn and corroded, and the dank floors echoed her steps loudly, though Tsunade was as silent as a sabre cat. Tenten turned frightfully at every corner, dreading the faces of her abusers, lest they should rise from the dead and harm her again.

"You need not worry." Tsunade's voice was soothing. Tenten felt instantly calm, and she marveled. Was this some sort of magic? "I have cleared out the scum. I promise."

They continued in silence through the labyrinth, weaving and twisting and turning. The exit seemed ever elusive, taunting them at each corner. Finally, there it was, shining in a dank and moldy halo like some gift from the Nine, wrapped in a crusty package—a door. Probably the most disgusting door Tenten had ever seen: its marred surface appeared to have been white at some point, but deep scars painted red pictures across its back.

Tenten could have kissed that door.

Tsunade opened it, and suddenly the entryway was drenched in sunlight, bright and blinding. Tenten squinted as she approached, her every nerve on edge. It was so warm and inviting—she hadn't felt the sun's kiss in six weeks. It was like coming home.

As she stepped out the door, the sun wasn't the only one to greet her.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

This story was initially created as a crossover, but it was, first and foremost, intended to be a NejiTen fanfiction... So I changed the properties of the story to fit my intentions. Besides, I don't think one needs a thorough knowledge of the Elder Scrolls world to understand this story.


	2. Inherited

A/N: I do not own Naruto or Skyrim.

* * *

**Two**

Tenten had never seen so many bodies in her life. The bandits in the dank hovel had been enough—but this? Were there fifty, or five hundred? She couldn't count. The blood splattered across the grass and dirt was fresh, pooling in grotesque red lakes. Tenten looked away. She had to.

Was it all from one woman? Just who was she?

"Did…" Tenten choked, and tried again. "Did you do this?"

Tsunade glanced at her sideways. She seemed unperturbed. "Yes."

Tenten just nodded. Okay. So she'd leveled enough men to make an army. Obviously, she was not one to be trifled with.

"They were bandits," Tsunade continued. "They've plundered and murdered. They were the gang who attacked Whiterun. Granted, Whiterun has been lax where bandits are concerned, what with the dragons returning and such. They never saw it coming. These bastards must have planned this attack meticulously. It was brilliant, really, though I hate to give them credit."

Her voice faded softly, like the echoes of the wind. Tenten felt obligated to speak—she needed to hear the story.

"They took me away—just yanked me into a carriage and tied me up. I fought but it wasn't enough. It was right when the attack started, and I… did you know the man who ran the goods store in town? My father? I don't know what's become of him. I'm sure he thinks I'm dead."

"To be honest, I am not familiar with Whiterun," Tsunade said. "I was simply hired by the Jarl to ensure every bandit involved in this attack felt death. So, no. I did not know your father. I'm heading back, though. So I guess we can find out when we return."

"You'd really help me back?"

"Of course," Tsunade looked startled. "That was my intention all along. I wasn't going to leave you out here. I am not a monster."

Tenten smiled, relieved. She figured Tsunade would help her, but it was nice to have vocal reassurance. They trudged through the wretched mass of bodies, and Tenten quivered as she stepped. Her shoes were torn and ragged, so the blood squished between her toes as if she were stepping through mud. She tried not to look at what—or who—she was stepping in.

"So you say the Jarl hired you," Tenten began. "Are you a mercenary?"

"Of sorts," Tsunade replied. "Though I'd like to think I have more class."

"I'd say—especially if the Jarl of Whiterun is seeking your talents. You are certainly no common mercenary."

Tsunade grinned back, but said nothing. They continued in silence, but Tenten was happy with that. She simply cherished the nature around her—from butterflies to mountain flowers and the occasional fox. How much had she missed? Her father certainly must be worried. Tenten smiled, thinking of how relieved he would be to see her. Maybe he'd buy her some new clothes—or a horse. She could coax anything from him, now.

Hours passed in a blissful haze. They didn't need to speak—both had a mutual appreciation for the quiet beauty that encompassed them. To disrupt that would be to tarnish all happiness that these solemn moments afforded. So rare, Tenten thought, must be these moments for Tsunade. The woman seemed as if she rarely saw a peaceful day in her life.

A wave of excitement flooded Tenten the moment she saw the familiar looming of Dragonsreach in the distance. It stood majestic in the grey fog that descended like a sigh. It grew closer as they walked, and soon the silhouettes of guards and farmers milling about came into focus. Tenten nearly leapt from Tsunade's side—it had been six long, treacherous weeks. They were getting close.

"Hold it, there," a voice ahead of them said. A Whiterun guard stood poised warily, one hand gripping the sword about his belt. It was justified—Tsunade was as armed as they came.

"I am Tsunade, hired by Jarl Balgruuf himself, seeking passage to Whiterun" she began authoritatively. She handed over her writ of passage, and the guard nodded.

"Can't be too careful," he muttered. "Not after the attack. As if those damned dragons weren't enough…"

Tsunade nodded in sympathy and he waved them away.

"I appreciate that they're finally taking cautionary measures," Tsunade sighed, "but they were too late."

Tenten nodded grimly, but her mood was immediately lightened at the prospect of seeing her father. Before she knew it, the large gate to Whiterun emerged like some veiled spirit. Tsunade flashed her letter at the guards again and the large doors lowered for them.

Any hope Tenten had retained vanished in an instant.

Though it may have been six weeks, the incident looked as if it had taken place just yesterday. Buildings lay corroded and black, though most were nothing but ashes. Ashes and dust. It rained ashes—poured ashes. There was nothing. All was desolate. People stumbled about as if in a dream. No one smiled or laughed. They drifted about aimlessly like phantoms—listless ghosts of a town once proud.

She was not two steps into Whiterun before she wanted to turn and run away—back to the prison, back to her Hell. Not even Hell was this empty. At least there she had lived on hope—feasted on it. Hope was her only solace, but no more. There was nothing. All was desolate. Ashes reigned now, as if they had always been there.

Maybe they had.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Tsunade glanced down guiltily. "You needed to see it for yourself. You wouldn't have believed me—you wouldn't have wanted to believe me."

"My father is dead, isn't he?"

"Every store was raided and ransacked—every owner murdered. Your father was among them."

One sentence. That's all it took. Six weeks for nothing. She didn't even have a home to come back to. She won the battle—but not the war. Even in death, the bandits were grinning snidely from whichever circle of Hell they'd been cast into. Even in death, they'd won.

"Do you have anyone else?"

Tenten shook her head numbly. Her mother had died the winter they'd made the trek from Cyrodiil to Skyrim—all for her father's business, which now lay in a pitiful mass of ash. She was not yet two months old, then. Now she was nineteen and an orphan.

"Would you care to stay with me?"

Tenten couldn't feel her mouth move as she spoke. "I guess I have no other choice." The words tasted like poison on her tongue.

"I have a house in Solitude. Surely, you probably never wish to see Whiterun again—Gods, how could you? But you needed to see and understand the gravity of the situation we are in, though I am truly sorry about your father. You would not have allowed me to accompany you if I'd told you earlier—you must acknowledge that."

Tenten nodded. She said nothing more to Tsunade, simply turned around and walked through the gate. "I know you must collect your bounty from the Jarl. Go and do that. I'll just… sit out here. I can't stand another second in there. I'll go mad."

Tsunade reached and embraced the girl tightly. Tenten hugged her back harder and harder, sobbing heavily into her armor. She was too young for this. It wasn't fair.

"I'm sorry," Tenten managed to choke out. Her chest heaved, and she felt embarrassed by all the tears. Six weeks of torture, and this was her breaking point?

Tsunade let her go, looking her dead in the eyes. "Do not apologize. You go and rest. You deserve some peace."

Tenten nodded and staggered away like a wounded lamb. One guard standing by was shaking his head. "Poor girl," he muttered to his partner.

Tenten kept her head down and hurried past them. She didn't want their pity. She collapsed onto a rock near the gate and sobbed. Even in prison, her tears had been silent. Night was fast approaching by the time Tsunade returned. Tenten had cried herself dry, and was greatly fatigued. Tsunade gingerly helped the girl stand.

"You need to rest. Don't worry," she said at Tenten's wide eyes, "you won't need to go back into Whiterun. We can camp outside—besides, the inn is gone anyway. Oh, and…"

Tenten looked up at her. "Yes?"

Tsunade reached into her armor, pulling a slender golden necklace from one of her pockets. It gleamed dimly in the night, but Tenten recognized it immediately.

"That—it was still there?" She snatched it from Tsunade. "This belonged to my mother, and my father—when she died—he would wear it every day. He meant to give it to me, but… How did you get this?"

"It was found on his person in the aftermath. The Jarl knew you'd been kidnapped and kept it as part of your inheritance in the treasury, just in case you returned—although this was done after the raid of the treasury, so this necklace is really the only inheritance you have. But it's a miracle, really."

"There are no words that are adequate enough to tell you how grateful I am," Tenten said softly.

"There is no need." Tsunade smiled.

* * *

They made camp at the base of Whiterun's mountain. Tsunade had borrowed some provisions from the town, including a blanket, which she carried in a large sack. She splayed it across the ground, and set up a fire. Tenten sat warming herself in front of it, trying futilely to purge memories of Whiterun from her mind.

"Do you like rabbit?" Tsunade asked, holding up the limp animal she'd captured.

"I'll pass, thank you."

"You need to eat," she sighed. "We have a long journey ahead of us tomorrow. Solitude is a few weeks away on foot. Maybe I can see about purchasing a horse…"

"No," Tenten relented. "I'll eat. I don't want to be a burden—you don't need to waste your money for me."

"You are going to be under my care now," she said softly. "I have more than enough to compensate."

Tsunade began to skin and gut the animal.

"My father taught me a special way to prepare rabbit, if you want me to help," Tenten said. Referring to her father in the past-tense gave her chills. "I can gather the herbs easily."

Tsunade grinned at her. "I'm all for prime cooking."

Tenten needed something to occupy her mind. She set out into the dark, and gathered the mountain flowers and thistles that were native to the area. It reminded her of better days, and she reflected fondly on them. She returned not ten minutes later, as Tsunade was preparing to shove the spit into the animal.

"All you need to do is soak the leaves in water, and then cover the rabbit after stuffing it with thistles and mountain flowers. It steams the flavor into the meat."

"Well, well," Tsunade said. "I didn't know the Gourmet was a nineteen-year-old Imperial. This sounds like a recipe in Uncommon Tastes."

"I got it from my father."

The rabbit roasted over the fire, and Tsunade brought out her weapons—lest their meal attract other hungry predators, animal or man. They passed silent moments in front of the fire, which warmed them. Tenten was entranced by the flames, flickering and indifferent. She wanted to throw herself into them, and be caressed all over. With abrupt curiosity, she glanced at the semi-mercenary by her side. What was her story? She was so open, yet… nothing. There was nothing—she was nothing.

"What made you want to be a mercenary?" Tenten blurted. "I don't mean to pry… but if you don't wanna talk, that's okay."

"No, I'll tell you." Tsunade seemed to prepare herself. "I was raised by a man named Gulnir, who found me on the side of the road as an infant. I'd just been left there, he'd say. He couldn't leave me there; he said my crying was loud enough to attract every cave bear in the vicinity. But he didn't have a home; he just camped around, doing odd jobs for pay. He taught me how to survive in the harsh terrain of Skyrim. He taught me to fight and read and write—I was wrestling sabre cats and reading ancient Dwemer works by the time I was ten. It didn't last, though.

"I woke up one morning when I was eleven, and he was gone. Vanished. There were no footprints, blood, or anything. No trail. I thought he might have gone hunting, but days passed and… well, it was a wake up call. He was a good man, so I don't think he abandoned me—he'd call me his "gift from the Nine." He was as close to me as any father. I don't know what became of him. I lived in isolation for a time, honing my skills. After that, I moved to Solitude around sixteen and worked as a servant for the late High King and Queen. They treated me very well and, once they learned the true extent of my abilities, employed me as a personal guard and mercenary. They had me cleaning out bandit camps by the time I was nineteen. And… that's about what I've been doing ever since. The past High King Azuma had even named me a Thane of Solitude when he ascended to the throne. I had been away on a mission when Hizashi Stormcloak… you know. I can't help but feel guilty—had I been there, I would have cut him down before he could have opened his mouth. Anyway… that's about all there is to say."

Tenten leaned back, absorbing everything about her new companion. "Wow," she breathed. "You've led quite the life."

"I guess."

"How old are you now?"

"I'm thirty-five."

"Oh."

Tsunade laughed. "You sound surprised."

"Well… you seem much younger, yet… older at the same time—wise. But you look beautiful."

"It's nice to be complimented so sincerely."

Tsunade carefully pulled the rabbit from the spit, and dished out the meat, wrapping the extra for the next day.

"This is absolutely delicious."

"Thanks," Tenten replied. The food was good, though difficult to swallow. The taste brought back many memories of her father.

They finished eating, and both crowded onto the blanket. Tsunade put out the fire, and kept her sword in hand as she slept. Tenten, however, lay awake. How could she sleep with all that had happened? The tears returned again, silent this time. She let them fall.

Harsh as it seemed, she needed to move on. The longer she spent dwelling on her past life, the more it would rip her apart inside. It would slow Tsunade down, and prevent closure. Her mother's necklace gleamed at her throat, and she gripped it tightly. It could be done: her father had overcome the grief of losing her mother. She could overcome, and she would—just as she'd prevailed in the prison.

She relaxed next to Tsunade, gazing up at the moons and stars, shining indifferently to the creatures below them. Still holding her necklace, she smiled, and let her mind drift to the future, and the possibility of adventure with Tsunade—this wonderful and mysterious woman.

* * *

Thanks for reading! I always appreciate your thoughts and opinions... let me know what you think!


	3. Destined

**A/N: I still don't own Naruto.**

* * *

**Chapter 3**

Tenten hated bandits.

As if her prior experiences weren't enough; they showed up everywhere. At every blind curve or shadow they lurked, prowling the dark for their next victim. They would jump out, demand money or jewelry or—well—satisfaction for their "needs." Luckily for her, at every blind curve or shadow near the road, Tsunade stood poised like a fierce goddess, sword brandished and eyes like fire. Most took the hint, and backed off. But there were always those audacious few—always. Tenten would turn around and close her eyes and plug her ears while Tsunade dealt with them.

Her days on the road, aside from their encounters with ruffians, had been devoid of hardship, and full of new hope. Tsunade and Tenten got along easily—they both treasured silence, nature, and had a respect for peace. Tsunade had begun to teach her the basics of fighting, too.

"Stand tall," she would comment, scrutinizing Tenten's physique. "Balance your weapon—there. Just like that. Now, bend your knees slightly. Beautiful!"

"This feels funny," Tenten would reply.

"It just takes getting used to. Your stance allows you to strike and parry a blade much more easily. But you are a natural—even I didn't learn at such a rapid pace. It will come in no time. I promise."

They would spar in the night, near the fire. At first they had used long sticks, whirring and slashing through the air, and Tenten would wake up covered in cuts and bruises, feeling like a punching bag. But after Tenten accidentally set one of the sticks on fire, Tsunade decided it was time for an upgrade. They now sparred with shovels.

Tenten could feel herself improving every night and day, whether it was in knowledge or physical prowess. Tsunade would look at her and smile, and Tenten was sure if her mother was still alive she would have smiled just like that. It was special.

"We're nearly to Solitude," Tsunade had informed her after two weeks of vigorous travel, as the great walls of the city loomed in the mist of the mountains. "I have a lovely home there and high connections. It will be a safe, peaceful existence, where you can live at your leisure."

"But what about you?"

"I've got other responsibilities, so I will be in and out often. But I promise I'll always come back. You won't have to be without me for too long."

"Where will you be going?"

"Wherever Jarl Kurenai the Fair bids me to go. She provided a wonderful home and title for me, and so I serve her, usually with my sword."

Tenten nodded, but felt something in her throat clench up. She couldn't explain the feeling. Was it… sadness? Disappointment?

"Are you okay?" Tsunade asked.

Tears welled up in Tenten's eyes. "I guess not," she said. "It's just… sorry. I don't know what's wrong. I guess I just don't want you to go… I'd feel like I'm losing the mother I just found again. It's selfish, I know."

Tsunade immediately turned and hugged the young girl tightly. "It is perfectly understandable. I don't blame you—I don't want to go anywhere, either."

They stood for a time while Tenten cried. She was embarrassed. She hadn't known Tsunade long enough to warrant such a show; it wasn't as if she was really her mother. She was sure it was simply the strain of her past experiences bubbling up again. She couldn't expect to live six weeks in Hell without repercussions.

"I'll tell you what," Tsunade said after a time. "Maybe I can take you with me. You seem to be acclimating extraordinarily well to training—you obviously have a natural gift. If you can prove to me that you're strong enough to fight, I will gladly take you anywhere I go. Does that seem better?"

It was as if a weight had been lifted from Tenten's chest. "You mean that?"

"Of course."

Tenten beamed. That would be perfect. She wouldn't feel useless or alone or hopeless and she would still get to be with her almost-mother. "You're the best," she said, her voice muffled in Tsunade's armor.

"I know," she replied. "Let's just drop by Solitude, see if I have any new assignments, get acquainted with the city and house, and see how we feel after, alright? Maybe we can even squeeze in some training tonight. We'll be training much more often and much more vigorously. Can you handle that?"

Tenten grinned. "I can handle anything."

"That's my girl."

* * *

Solitude was the most beautiful place Tenten had ever seen. Mountain flowers and thistles lined the stone walls and stone streets and stone houses. It was elegant, and the people were vibrant. It seemed like some far-away, fairy-tale land that only existed in the stories her father would tell her. She didn't feel like she was really there. The air was too sweet, the breeze too light. Maybe she was dreaming.

"Make way for the traitor!"

A voice exploded behind her. She was suddenly shoved to the side by a large guard toting a ragged man on a rope. Tsunade caught her, her body stiffened and her nostrils flared.

"What is the meaning of this?" she spat. The guard cowered slightly.

"An execution, Thane Tsunade."

"Of whom?"

"Roggvir of Solitude," he replied. "The traitor who raised the gate for Hizashi Stormcloak the night of the High King's murder."

The prisoner behind him looked down, attempting to bury himself in his shoulders. Tsunade reached for Tenten's hand as the guard led Roggvir away towards the large congregation of civilians. Behind them stood a raised stone stage, upon which an angry man with an axe stood glaring at the crowd.

"I knew that man," Tsunade sounded wistful. "How strange."

"They're going to kill him?" Tenten asked, nearing hysterics.

"I am afraid so."

"Does he really deserve to die for this?" Tenten continued, whirling towards Tsunade. "I mean, he just opened a gate. That's it. Why should he die for that?"

Tsunade looked at her sadly. "It's war. Feelings are heightened, and punishments are amplified. The Legion wants to send a clear message: traitors die. Roggvir's execution will merely serve as an example. That's the way it is."

Tenten was shaking with rage. This man surely had a wife and kids—he had a life that was being taken away, and for what? Raising a gate? Where was the justice? Tsunade's grip on her arm tightened.

"I know," she soothed. "But there is no justice in war. There is no fairness in war. All we can do is hang our heads low and carry on. You don't need to watch if you don't want to."

They led Roggvir up to the stage, a spectacle for the masses. Tenten vowed she would watch. She had to. This was war, and this was real. If anything, this would serve as a reaffirmation to her resolve. She would fight for men like this, men who were so wrongly treated for simply doing what they believed was right, traitor or no. Roggvir was forced on his knees, and the man with the axe took aim. Tenten cringed, and it was over.

Just like that.

Would her death be so quick? So callous?

"Tsunade."

"Yes?" Her voice was strained.

"I want to be trained to my best when I fight. Can we start tonight?"

"Better yet," Tsunade turned, continuing down the path, "Let's start now."

* * *

The city was sleeping. No one was home as they wandered the paths of Solitude. Lights were dark, and the sky was dormant. They had just visited Jarl Kurenai the Fair, who gushed over Tenten, expressing sympathy and wonder at the girl who lived. She gave Tenten privileges to her personal armory, an assortment of fine raiment, and the greatest respect. Tenten had not known the Jarl for long before she decided she was the epitome of what a ruler ought to be: kind and caring. Characteristics that were simple, yet too often neglected, Tenten thought.

Tsunade had stood proudly as she described Tenten's past and progress. The Jarl seemed increasingly enchanted, and genuinely so. There was nothing feigned in Jarl Kurenai the Fair.

"She doesn't deserve what happened to her," Tenten commented as they left the Blue Palace.

"No," Tsunade replied. "She doesn't. But she's making the best of what she can, despite this damnable conflict. You witnessed her kindness and grace for yourself."

"Is she really so caring to all her subjects? Or am I a special case because you're a Thane?"

"Before High King Asuma's murder, she dedicated an entire wing of her palace to shelter and feed the beggars of the city, aiding them with finding work. Sadly, she can't open her doors so widely anymore. But she is more than just a charity case—her actions truly reflect who she is."

"Then maybe there is hope, after all."

Tsunade nodded. "There will always be hope, even when things seem a little foggy sometimes."

They continued down the path in the peace and stillness of night, covering the city like a veil. Tsunade abruptly gestured to a large building emerging from the dark. "That is my house. I've taken to calling it Proudspire Manor."

"Sheesh," Tenten muttered, gazing at the building that seemed to kiss the sky. "I can't imagine why."

"I can't deny that it's a comfortable place." Tsunade gazed up admiringly. "It's been a great solace for me in recent years. I have a fully functioning alchemy lab, enchanting table, armory and weaponry, and a courtyard to suit my work, along with some spare bedrooms. I think you'll take well to it."

"Did the King just… give it to you?"

"I had to purchase it myself, in order to be named Thane. It wasn't cheap."

Tenten whistled. "This is my new home."

"Now and forever."

* * *

"Your official training begins now."

Tenten snapped awake. Light filtered in through the large window, making Tsunade's golden hair glow like a halo. It had been months since she'd slept in a real bed, and she struggled to sit up, wishing she could melt into the covers.

"Awesome."

Tsunade grinned down at her, dropping weapons and armor into her lap. "Get changed and arm yourself. We're using real weapons, now."

Tsunade left, leaving Tenten to sit and wonder how her life could fall so neatly into place after so much suffering. Was this some belated reward from the Divines? She looked around the room: fur blankets, velvet curtains, chests and drawers and cabinets of the finest oak, she even had her own safe. She never dreamed that she could live so elegantly. Her life was mending slowly, piece by piece. She was living in some world where the line between fantasy and reality was blurred. But how long could her fortune last? When will her life inevitably shatter again?

She changed quickly, shaking herself from her reverie. She needed to focus on the present—what was happening in this moment. And right now, it was training.

She stopped by the safe on her way out the door. It stood there, blank and black and muted. She grazed the top: no dust. It was perfectly clean. The door was cracked open and she kneeled down, slowly opening it. It was perfectly empty. She shrugged. It wasn't like she had anything to put in there, anyway. As soon as the thought passed, she gripped her necklace. She could put it in there—gently set it down, lock it up safely. No one would know it was there—no one but her. Her own little secret. It was the most valuable thing she owned, so why not keep it safe? She thought. No, no, it would be more respectful to wear it. It would be more meaningful. It would remind her, and she would remember always. She would not forget—she could not. Not after everything.

Gently, she slid the safe's door shut.

It was time for training.

Tsunade was waiting for her in the courtyard of Proudspire Manor. The stones of the home lined the small grove, and grass and mountain flowers bloomed at her feet. She felt sorry she'd be fighting over them. She hoped she didn't bleed on them, either.

Tsunade raised her sword, and Tenten met it with hers.

"Are you ready to begin? Today will be a bit more challenging with real weapons. Don't worry, though," Tsunade smiled at her. "I'll go easy on you."

"I'll need it."

The blade was heavy in Tenten's hand. Tsunade shot forth, and Tenten could barely parry the blade. They kept on, Tsunade always striking first, Tenten hardly able to defend herself. The sword was supposed to be an extension of her arm—of her whole body. It felt like a clunky bit of scrap metal in her hand. She had the aptitude of a toddler.

"Why doesn't this feel natural?" Tenten grunted between parries. "I can barely get a grip on my sword."

"The weight of the sword will lessen with practice and training. You will grow stronger," Tsunade sounded perfectly composed—Tenten was no challenge. "Try using both hands to begin. One does not simply become a master swordsman overnight."

Tenten sighed. "Right."

The spar didn't last a minute longer: Tsunade had knocked the sword from Tenten's hand, leaving a gash. There was a blur of silver and a blade at her throat before she could blink. Tenten clutched her hand.

"I've got some room for improvement."

"We all do."

Tsunade led Tenten back into the house, dabbing on some ointment while wrapping cloths around her hand. "Sorry about that."

"It's all in the training, I guess," Tenten winced. "I should get used to this sort of thing."

Tsunade just smiled down at her.

"I have another meeting with the Jarl today, if you'd like to accompany me. She's very fond of you."

"I would love to. What's this meeting for?"

"I'm not sure. Probably another mission. We'll see when we arrive, I suppose."

Jarl Kurenai was radiant when she saw Tenten accompanying Tsunade—a smile that put stars to shame. She rose from her throne when they mounted the steps, and extended a warm greeting with arms wide.

"My Thane Tsunade," she said, "and my sweet Tenten, how good of you to come on such short notice. I hate to disturb you so abruptly, but there is an urgent matter that must be sorted—and there is no other more capable or more qualified."

"My Jarl," Tsunade responded smoothly, "I am honored to serve you."

Tenten watched the interaction with wonder. The eloquent speech and elegant mannerisms seemed surreal, like something that could only exist in the pages of a novel. And yet here it was, happening before her eyes. She smiled to herself. It was a pleasant thing.

"It would be best to discuss business in private. Here," she gestured for them to follow her, "we may collaborate in my chamber. Alone, if you please," she said to the guards surrounding her throne. They fell back courteously, silently.

Tenten quickly looked at Tsunade, who nodded. "That means you too, little one."

Tenten nearly leapt with excitement. This was her first official business, and despite the lousy training session earlier, Tsunade deemed her worthy to accompany her to go wherever or do whatever the Jarl bid. It was an honor unmatched. She followed the women closely and marveled at the Jarl's room when they arrived. They had spared no expense. The Jarl seated herself on a fine chair near the fireplace, gesturing for the other women to join her. They were completely alone.

"I feel that I ask too much of you, sometimes. But I know that you can handle anything that comes your way," the Jarl began. "Before we begin anything, I want you to know that. You are vital to me, and I depend on you utterly. Without you, the Legion would fall to ashes. Ruin and ashes. You are the lifeblood of my army, of my Hold, and of my palace, especially given Asuma's passing. But it's more than that—there is a destiny for you, Tsunade, foretold by oracles of old, when Alduin unfurls wings of shadow and a maw unquenchable—one would rise from it all, and restore order and balance. A legend of the Nine. A hero to Skyrim and her people. A restorer of hope. A balancer of Fate. A key to the End. _A Dragonborn_."

Tenten had never seen Tsunade look so old. She was hunched over the table, the lines and planes of her face marred in shadow. The Jarl was quiet, the last word hanging thick in the air like fog. But what did it mean? What was a Dragonborn—and why did the women go so quiet, now? Tsunade looked at the Jarl with the oldest eyes Tenten had ever seen; eyes that have lived thousands of years and seen the world in its entirety. Eyes that have tasted death and grief and hope and pain. Even the eyes of a dragon itself. But what did it mean? She didn't want to say anything, to disrupt the silence that burrowed itself into the very essence of the moment. The Jarl looked down—she couldn't face the oldest eyes in Skyrim, in Tamriel.

"Destiny is a strange thing. To others, such as yourself and the Greybeards, it is apparent and attributable to old Nordic legends and prophecies. Yet to me, it remains darkened and impenetrable—the light of a star on a cloudy night. My own destiny eludes me while the very blood that distinguishes me as Dragonborn pounds and courses through my veins. It is a strange thing."

Tenten couldn't bear to keep herself quiet any longer. "What is a Dragonborn? What does it mean to _be_ Dragonborn?"

There was a ghostly smile playing about Tsunade's lips. "What, indeed? I may be Dragonborn, but I can't answer that myself. According to old Nordic legends, though, a Dragonborn has the body of a mortal, with the blood and soul of a dragon—a gift descended from Tiber Septim himself, who was the first. We can speak in the tongue of dragons, Shouting with the Thu'um. I learned all of this from the Greybeards, who are servants to the Way of the Voice, as they call it, teaching me the art of the Thu'um. Only a year ago I was taught all of this, but it made sense, considering my talents and abilities. I still have yet to learn my own limits and capabilities. There is much to learn."

"She is Skyrim's savior. She is foretold of ancient prophecies. She is a sign of the ending times. The Dragonborn is an essential aspect of Nordic tradition. For this reason," Jarl Kurenai began again solemnly, "I am asking her—the both of you—to travel to Windhelm and attempt to negotiate a peace offering with Jarl Hizashi Stormcloak. He claims to be an advocate for the Nords, and as such, is especially attuned to Nordic tradition—lives by it. As the Dragonborn, Tsunade, he will listen to you. He has to. I am so sick and tired of this—all of it. Their defeat is imminent, but how many more will have to die, so needlessly, so pointlessly? I can't go on sacrificing the lives of my people while there is an opportunity to end it all here. I love Skyrim; I haven't abandoned my Nordic ancestry. I thrive in it, always. I am not an enemy, but an ally. Please make him understand, Tsunade. _Please_."

Tenten sat back, attempting to absorb everything. Tsunade didn't miss a beat.

"I will do everything within my power, my Jarl. But I am Dragonborn, not a worker of miracles. Hizashi's intentions are self-serving, I'm afraid. He's seen an opportunity to usurp power in the aftermath of a war I'd rather forget, all with the façade of restoring Skyrim's right to serve Talos. I do not anticipate he will care much for my message, but who knows? His people might. I will do what I can—everything I can. You know that. I just want to prepare you for the likelihood of failure. Surrender is a concept foreign to the minds of the Nords. I've at least lived in Skyrim long enough to figure that out."

"You are a blessing, Tsunade. I owe you everything."

The Jarl's tears made glittering tracks down her cheeks, shining like small paths of fire. She reached over the table and embraced Tsunade, crying softly into her armored shoulder. Who knew what she was remembering that made her cry like that? The High King Asuma, maybe. Or maybe the thought that this war could be over soon. Maybe it was hope. Who knew, but Tenten was crying too. There was even a glimmer in Tsunade's eyes, old as time. To be Dragonborn, Tenten thought. It sounded like the greatest curse to befall any human being, bearing the weight of the world.

If anything was certain, they were traveling to Windhelm.


End file.
